Nephilim: Other Battles
by Wulf Duprix
Summary: Castiel, Sari, and others back again, trying to stop the breaking of the seals, or would if she wasn't dying.  Castiel, in all his winged  and shirtless  glory, there to save the day.  Need I say more? Rated M for adult situations.
1. St Agnes

**A/N:** 'Slipping' of characters is, in my mind anyway, that fancy way angels have of getting from here to there... they simply _slip_ through reality. This is set in the time just after Anna got her groove (Grace) back and Cas is still trying to figure out what the heck is happening in Heaven. He'd once mentioned to Dean there were 'other battles, other seals'. This is one of 'em, set during a time he didn't appear in the show.

**A/N 2:** This is the continuation of Nephilim: The Hunted.

Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own Supernatural, it's characters, affiliates... blah, blah, etc. This is all in good fun, so don't sue me! :)

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><p><strong>Heaven<strong>

C-

Castiel sat in his favorite Heaven, that of an autistic man, with the sun shining warm and bright on his face. He didn't think of himself as _hiding_ - he simply needed some space away from his siblings to think. Annaliel had retrieved her Grace, and God had allowed it. His siblings were not so forgiving, though. She had Disobeyed. She had Fallen, and risen, and come away - Uriel used the word _stained_ - but to Castiel, that seemed a little…. _harsh_, as Dean would say.

But she _was_ different now. And she said, though Castiel already knew, that there was something _wrong_ in Heaven. The seals were breaking, quickly. _Too quickly_. But what concerned Castiel was how _un_concerned his superiors were. He'd prayed for guidance, but got none.

Now angels were disappearing, one after another. Not dying - all in Heaven would know if they were dead. Just…. _gone_. And nearly all from places where seals sat unbroken. Untouched. _Guarded_. It was disconcerting, and not much disconcerted an angel.

Castiel sighed deeply. He'd never lost that particular habit when he'd returned after -_ blank_. It was all still _blank_. He didn't recall, and knew he wasn't meant to- _not yet._ No one had questioned his absence after his return which was just as well, since he honestly couldn't tell them anything.

Uriel had been called home after Danielle's death, and had taken it harder than most. For Castiel, something had always niggled at the thought of his sister's demise, but those thoughts easily slipped away when he tried to grasp them. He would remember, he knew, when it was time. And it nearly _was_ time, he thought. It was time for change. Would he be ready? He watched the man fly his kite for a while more, then stood and departed to go see what change would bring.

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><p><strong>St. Agnes<strong>

S-

It seemed like decades since I'd had a flat minute to relax. Busy, busy, busy. I still was busy, _slipping_ from here to there, seal to seal, trying to do what the angels couldn't, or wouldn't do. Protect them.

_'Demons, demons everywhere,' _came Mia's small voice in my mind. _'Not all the angels seem to care!'_

I nodded quietly. _'Too true,' _I replied spying an angel wearing a gardener across the street. He watched blandly as the demons spilled out of a car parked near the rectory of the old Roman cathedral, seeming to most the world like a normal, happy family. All three were possessed, their true forms writhing around their victims like smoke, the strongest of them crammed into a young boy's body like wearing a too-small suit. I grimaced a little, not really wanting to know what a demon that powerful could be capable of; not while the boy could be mentally tortured just by the viewing of it.

I looked down to Mia, still a child herself, though smaller than she should've been at 9. But she had an old soul. _Very_ old. And very powerful. But her mind, at least in this life, would always be a little stunted, I thought. The demons had done a real number on her family while she'd watched, right up until self-preservation had kicked her Grace into action years too early. That explosion of energy had obliterated the demons, her parents along with them. It had also alerted Uriel.

Thankfully, it had alerted me, too. I had been in the Boston area for weeks, seeking this celestial cousin I'd never known but dreamt of, but the nephilim are notoriously hard to locate, especially before they come into their Grace. I wasn't expecting a child of 7. And Uriel hadn't been expecting me. It was the first time I'd seen him in this life, but not the last. But it was _that_ day, _that_ battle, not for only my life but Mia's as well, that I learned to _slip_ from place to place as Castiel had once done, with me along for the ride. This time it was likely the only thing that saved my life.

Though her mind was wounded, it wasn't broken, I thought with a bit of pride. She was tough, our Mia. Those rich chocolate brown eyes smiled up into mine from her coffee and cream face. _'Time?' _she asked. I nodded and we started forward. The gardening angel didn't look up from his work, though I didn't doubt he was waiting for us. He wasn't here to _protect_ the seal… He was one of Zachariah's. He was here to make sure the seal _did_ get broken.

But the angel didn't see us- they never did when Mia was around. It seemed to be one of her strongest gifts. With any luck, we could get St. Agnes's tomb out before we made too much commotion. _That_ kind of noise or panic Mia _couldn't_ hide. We needed to be quick. We snuck in the front door quietly and made our way down the side isle. And there our luck ended.

Another angel knelt in one of the front pews, his head bowed. He seemed to be genuinely praying - I knew what that vibe felt like. We paused while I considered the situation. There was no one else in the church except the priest, napping in the rectory. The demons weren't in the building, yet. Would this angel risk a commotion? His aura felt familiar, but if I'd ever fought him before, it wasn't in _this_ vessel.

This vessel looked like an overworked businessman; a dusty beige trench coat over slacks, white shirt and loosened tie. Unkempt but not unattractive brown hair capped a nice face, at least in profile. A little familiar, but…

_'He'll follow'_, sang Mia into my mind. Her eyes twinkled at the thought of a good game of 'Catch Me If You Can.' I nodded and winked. No one ever caught Mia; she'd been a pro at _slipping_ since the start, and could do it undetected.

I tucked myself into a shadowed corner and waited. She skipped down the isle and up onto the stage, then around the pulpit, then around again until the angel finally raised his head. His sober near-scowl turned to surprised stillness, but he didn't move to go after her. He could _see_ what she was, I knew. Not just human. Not just angel. _Both_, and a child to boot. A good prize to get on Zachariah's A-List.

Mia stopped skipping, ducking behind the pulpit and peeked back out, waving to him. Then ducked out of sight again. Rather than _slip_ up to the stage, he walked, head cocked almost curiously. When she peeked out again, hesitantly... _he waved back_.

She looked surprised, but also delighted - someone _new_. Eyes sparkling, she giggled and ducked away yet again. She almost never turned down a new playmate, even if it _was_ a potential enemy. He'd just started forward toward her when the demons finally entered. This time he _did_ slip onto the stage, essentially putting himself between the demons and Mia. Or would have, if she'd still been there. But she was with me, hiding in the shadows, looking a little crestfallen that her new playmate hadn't followed.

_Angels protecting nephilim?_ Maybe he just wanted to keep her whole long enough to deliver her upstairs. Can't let the demons snag his prize, now can he?

This was getting too crowded. I needed to get to that tomb and get it out of here, before the demons did. Of course, _they_ didn't have to take it anywhere- only desecrate it. And Mia had trouble _slipping_ with anything non-living on board. Damn. And double damn. They were about to fight on top of my tomb.

They didn't bother trading words - the angel simply attacked, fast and hard, driving them off the stage. It was fierce and brutal and…. and might just give me enough time. I _slipped_ around the fray and onto the vacant stage. No time for subtleties, I shoved over the pulpit and ripped up the boards beneath bare-handed, frantic. Time, time, time…. I was running out.

I was scrambling into the hole I'd made when a demon hit me. Or, more to the point, I was hit by a demon that had been thrown by an angel. Which _really_ hurt, angels being so strong and all. The demon and I rolled away from the hole in a twisted heap, finally stopping with me on top, my hand on his head. A small blast of Grace, and the demon was gone. Sadly, his victim hadn't made it. The angel was now down to two, which still was not an unfair fight. He was fast, and graceful, and for all the world a reminder that angels were _not_ fluffy wings and halos. They were warriors.

I was halfway down into the hole I'd clawed out _again_, when I was suddenly airborne. The gardening angel from outside smirked at me when I finally landed, having crashed into a stone pillar near the front door. I got to my feet, ears still ringing, and _slipped_ in behind him. He was waiting for me, and the fight was on. He was limited in his vessel, but not by much. His silvery blade was flashing and flying, his smirk turning to a sneer of frustration when he realized he couldn't_ quite_ touch me. I stayed _just_ out of reach, waiting for him to do something stupid.

Dimly aware of another flash of light - another demon down - my opponent finally cheated. He had a second blade. I was tempted to smirk in return, but didn't. Too tacky. But when he backed up to readjust his stance for the extra blade, I pulled my '45 out of my waistband and shot him in the chest. He gaped at me, eyes widening, then simply crumbled the the ground, motionless. Since I _am_ part human, though, and subject to cockiness when the situation warrants it, I blew the smoke out of the barrel like Dirty Harry before tucking it back into my pants.

_Then_ I jumped into the hole before I lost my chance. Mia was already there, trying but failing to focus her energy around the tomb to slip with it. She gave me a relieved look as I put a hand on the stone tomb, the other on her and away they went. I jumped out of the hole in time to see the last demon nearly explode out of the boy, burning bright, the angel's hand on his head.

I had the gun pointed steadily by the time the angel swung around to face me. He gave a sober glance to his still motionless companion, then to the gun, and finally raised his eyes to mine. I lowered the gun a fraction to better see, but there was no doubt. It was all in those so-familiar blue-grey eyes.

_"Castiel?"_

He stared at me for a beat, but there was no recognition there, not even a flicker. Damn. And he was still armed. Double-damn. I didn't want to fight him. I didn't want to _hurt_ him.

"What did you do to him?" he asked, eying the other angel. His voice was gravely, a little like his former vessel's, but his eyes were the same intense blue-grey. Strong genes, those.

"Stopped him," I answered, gun still pointed. I watched for that tell-tale glimmer that proceeded _slipping_, but he only frowned at me.

"How?" He _did_ seem curious, almost child-like so. But the anger in his eyes was all grown up.

"A girl's gotta have some secrets." My arm was aching just from the short time of aiming it, but I knew we could literally stand here for eternity. Or, he could. I'd need to eat, eventually. "He's not dead. Just…." I shrugged. "Stopped."

"So I see," he murmured, frowning again at his friend. "And the tomb of St. Agnes?" I could feel his energy testing the air, searching.

"Gone. Safe. A seal can't be broken if it's not here to break."

He looked surprised at that. "Safe where?" I wanted to roll my eyes, but didn't.

"Away," I said. Then a thought. "Are you going to attack me?"

"No," he said frowning. "Do I need to?" He hadn't changed much, I thought, carefully lowering the gun.

"Hope not," I muttered, and inched forward warily to the fallen companion. Castiel too had inched forward. The man was still - very still, staring blankly into space. The wound in his chest pulsed slowly with a soft golden white light.

"Can you undo it?" Castiel asked somberly.

"Um, why would I want to do _that_?" Really, he couldn't be _that_ naive, not at his age. "I undo it and he either tries to snag me and haul me off to Uriel or go tattle to Zachariah, who will likely have all of Heaven gunning for my ass before I can say apocalypse. _Literally_," I added with a wag of the gun. "No, think I'll leave him as is, thanks."

I knelt slowly on a knee, still eying Castiel. Giving a silent apology to the vessel, (though not to the arrogant ass riding in him), I gently closed his eyes and straightened his arms and legs as best I could. Then, with a tap, sent him away. Castiel made a protesting sound, but settled for glaring at me, still looking a little baffled.

"He'll be returned," I said gently, "when this is all over."

_"You!"_ he said, eyes going even harder. "_You've_ been taking them?"

"If it was demons or, well gosh, _any_ other of the bad guys, they'd likely have torture and death to look forward to," I snapped. "Being frozen like an oversized doll might be torture to some, but at least they're alive. And for as long as I need to hold them, that won't change." I scooped up the two fallen blades while Castiel mulled that over. I still wasn't sure if we were going to fight or not- he didn't look certain, either. After all, I did just steal a sacred tomb and hijack his brother.

"We need _all _our soldiers to fight this war, to protect the seals-" he started.

"He," I said with heat, pointing at the empty floor, "wasn't here to fight demons. He was here on orders - orders to stop anyone from protecting the seal. _Like me_."

He shook his head slowly but firmly. "_I_ was sent here to protect the seal." He sounded so confident. He was still so pure, in a way.

"Oh Cas," I said softly… "Wake up and smell the apocalypse. If you were sent _here_, to protect _this_ seal, it's because someone wants you out of the way. And unless you find out whose toes you're stepping on, it won't be the enemy you need to worry about." I felt that familiar shiver echoing down from above. Time to go.

And leaving him looking angry and perplexed, I _slipped_ away.

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><p><strong>an:** Reviews are always welcome and appreciated! :)


	2. Angels

**Central Park**

C-

Castiel shared all of the happenings at St. Agnes Cathedral with Uriel, of course. Uriel, needless to say, was not pleased.

"Sariel," he hissed, all but shaking with rage.

"I don't know." But Castiel _was_ intrigued. Sariel was one of the nephilim - perhaps one of the strongest ever known - and as close to a legend as angels had. "She's returned, then?"

"Oh yes, for some years now," Uriel seethed, unconsciously rubbing a rib she'd managed to nick during their their first fight of this, her newest lifetime. It pained him that she'd escaped with the other little _mutt_. And of course they were still together; abominations like them tended to pack together. Like dogs. Little better than demons, really. "Was the seal broken then?"

"No. They took it, somehow, while I was fighting the demons. Sariel said as long as she kept it hidden, it couldn't_ be_ broken. If no one knew where it was, it would be safe… or, safer." Castiel couldn't argue the logic of that, assuming Sariel had been honest. He had no reason to trust her, though… he did, on some level, at least. It was perplexing.

"Hm." Uriel resumed his pacing. "Those half-bred _mutts_ do little without a selfish reason… what of the weapon she used? Did you retrieve it?"

Castiel opened his mouth to answer, to explain… "No," he said simply. How would he explain why he'd didn't even _attempt_ to get it? He wasn't even sure himself. "But I've never seen it's like before. It seemed to be a human gun - very plain, yet I got the impression…"

"Of?" snapped Uriel, impatient.

"I had the strong sense of _angelic_ energy. I believe the projectiles may be made from our own blades."

"Bullets. They call them bullets," Uriel mused aloud, lost in thought and still pacing.

Castiel nodded, mentally filing the information away. "But how? God himself crafted these blades - they can't _be_ manipulated so, can they?" It seemed unlikely, but Castiel could not discount it. If anyone in creation could believe in the unbelievable, it was an angel.

"They shouldn't, no. Even if she did manage it, the devious _mutt_, it shouldn't simply stop us in our tracks. Kill us, yes, if it's a direct hit; but to simply freeze us? No. There's something more here." Uriel shook off his intemperate thoughts abruptly. "I must go and seek revelation." And that said, he vanished with a windy flutter.

Castiel stayed where he was, sitting on a park bench in Central Park, listening to the others' whispered voices in his mind. It would not take long for the word to spread of Sariel and the missing seal.

The seal itself was but one of hundreds - but the tombs of saints? A far more limited number. Castiel wondered if there were any saintly tombs left untouched, or perhaps simply gone - _taken_ - like that of St. Agnes. Finally, he stood and mentally catalogued all the saint's resting places before disappearing, off into the world to find out.

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><p><strong>Zachariah<strong>

"They _cannot_ keep interfering! You know as well as I what Raphael is capable of." Zachariah was pacing the floor of an Old English Library, compliments of a dead millionaire. Everything in the room was placed efficiently. _Just. So_. Zachariah considered it the unspoken 11th Commandment. _Thou Shall Be Efficient_. Sariel had a way of making things about as _in_efficient as they could possibly get. She always had.

"I can dedicate myself to hunting her full-time," replied Uriel, secretly relishing the idea.

"No, no," snapped Zachariah, waving it off. "Castiel and the Winchester brats. That's where you're needed now." He paced some more, thinking hard.

"But why _Castiel?_" Uriel asked heatedly. "His efforts could surely be used elsewhere."

Zachariah shot a look that Uriel thought Raphael himself wouldn't challenge.

"Because they trust him, and we need their cooperation. Raphael needs them…" he trailed off, thinking deeply. If the rug beneath Zachariah's feet had been more real than Heaven-made, it surely would have worn thin by now. "Send Castiel to the next seal. It will get him out of the way, at least until he's needed with Annaliel.

Uriel nodded and prepared to depart.

"And Allistair?" Zachariah asked off-handedly.

"Nearly there, " Uriel replied cooly.

Zachariah's smile was small….. and evil. _"Perfect."_

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><p><em><strong>an:** _ Reviews are always welcome and appreciated! :)


	3. Caverns

**The Caverns**

S-

I leaned against the wall of the cavern, gazing down line of the carefully and respectfully placed tombs. We'd retrieved 17 so far, but it seemed a small number compared to how many seals, total, there were. Not all of them were the tombs or bones of saints, though. Some seals were small, some large, some only a singular action made by someone even the angels were unaware of. It should've been a comfort to know the angels themselves didn't know what they all were, but it wasn't. If even _they_ didn't know, we were likely stuck with semi-prophetic dreams to guide our way.

The task seemed impossibly large just now, which brought me meditatively back to the tombs, so carefully hidden. This was tangible. This, I could see. Things were getting accomplished - just, slowly. Very slowly.

"I would call it 'Contemplating Tombs'." Damon strolled out of the corridor behind me, quiet as a cat. He hadn't changed much over the years, I reflected, except for a new air of bitterness that so often choked him. He was angry these days. All the time, it seemed. I didn't know how to help him and knew he didn't see himself as needing help. Not to mention the fact that he would surely bite the head off anyone who'd dare suggest he did. I shook off my thoughts as he came to stand next to me.

"What's that?" I asked, tilting my head to better see him in the dim torchlight. His hair, like mine, always seemed to be like dark, living flame around firelight. Like someone had injected flame into the very strands of our hair and left it to burn without burning.

"The painting I'm inspired to do - you and all that crazy hair, surrounded by torches and tombs. Spooky, but I hear spooky sells well these days. I'd make millions and retire early," he said with a grin. There was something a little off about that grin, but I couldn't begin to discern what. I gave him a little smile in return and gazed back down the line again.

"They're comforting," I said with a half-shrug. "Old and at peace, safe underground." I sighed inwardly when he scoffed. "Well, that, and it helps a little to see something tangible we've accomplished so far. Gotta refresh my hope somehow."

To that, he said nothing, but his eyes cleared a little. We didn't speak mind to mind much these days, but we seemed unable _not_ to share emotions, whether we wanted to or not. Which royally sucked for us both, most of the time.

He didn't want me to share the burden of what he felt - bitter, cynical, angry and often hopeless - any more than he wanted to share my determination to keep faith with our mission. I doubted he'd have bothered to help with the Mission of Seals as we called it, if I hadn't asked. It wasn't selfishness on his part; he'd really just stopped caring somewhere along the way. The one thing he truly looked forward to was battle- pretty much any kind of fighting to let off some steam.

A heavy lock of fire-brown hair fell into his eyes and he pushed it back impatiently. He needed a haircut.

"You're one to talk," he quipped, looking down. My own hair now fell in a long heavy braid over my shoulder and down to my butt. It never got in the way though, so I'd never bothered cutting it. In what little free time I could afford, I wore it loose, loving the way it swished around me, like a cape. Super Sari to the rescue. I shrugged; to each their own.

"Zeke and Ray back yet?" I asked. They'd left on a supply run earlier; our little family was growing, having dreamt of and found 3 more new nephilim in the last month. We were up to 16 now, including Leo, who wasn't a nephilim but a retired hunter and an Earth Witch. If we kept adding to the list at this rate, we'd soon be a small army.

Damon shook his head, frowning a little. "No, but they had a damn lot of stuff to get. And now we're out of gauze. We need to keep better track of that kind of stuff." Funny him saying that, since it was his job to keep track of it. I'd tossed him extra responsibilities, hoping that keeping him busy would help with his not-so-new or improved attitude. It hadn't. Maybe he just needed a hobby - preferably one that didn't involve shooting or fighting.

Speaking of shooting…. I glanced at my watch when I heard the first shots ring out. "Is it 3 already?" Did time run faster down here, or slower up topside?

"Yup. You've been down here a while…. Heard you ran into Casper today," he said carefully. My lip twitched. He'd called him that long after he'd learned Castiel's name. "You okay?" I knew he didn't mean physically. Most of my wounds healed so fast these days they were hardly worth noting, though my being wounded at all anymore was rare.

I nodded, silent. It _had_ been hard seeing him, though I wasn't sure why. Maybe because he didn't seem to remember any of those chaotic few days. Or me, in general. But walking away from any fight knowing that some of the good guys actually _were_ still good, helped. If no one had died, it was a better day than most. It really _had_ been a shock, though. I'd felt certain he was dead- another irreplaceable life on my conscience.

I was tired of death. It exhausted me. And I was only 21. A line from Matchbox 20's 'Hang' drifted through my head. _"Been here too few years, to feel this old…" _I straightened with fresh determination, refusing to self-pity.

"Lets go help train our newest recruits," I said with forced enthusiasm. And off we went, leaving the tombs behind.

The caverns we'd found the year before were just about perfect - at least for those of us who could _slip_, which was only about half. We were in Arizona. Or, more specifically, _under_ Arizona. About a quarter of a mile under and there was only one access tunnel that led to the surface, which looked pretty much like every other tunnel in the place. It would be easy for intruders to get lost - there must have been hundreds of miles of tunnels; we only used a fraction of that to house and train and care for the Mission Group, the newest nickname for our little rebel gang.

We found one of the larger caverns tucked way, _way_ away from the others that was perfect for a shooting range. Or, it was after we lined the walls, floor, and some of the ceiling with none other than 3 ft deep forensics gel. No doubt the company who manufactured it was still trying to figure out how we managed to sneak off with _3 tons _of the stuff, but since we'd left twice the amount in money that it was worth in return, I didn't think they really looked that hard. Not that they would've found anything if they had.

We had some fresh air and electric piped in from the access shaft, but usually used torches and lanterns since the sheer size of the place meant we wouldn't smother to death with smoke. Living quarters, camp kitchen, port-a-potties - it was actually a lot like camping. Just, underground.

This was the Mission safe-house, at least in Arizona; but I knew of a dozen smaller ones scattered around the U.S., and another dozen beyond that worldwide. But this was base camp for most, and home to many. I wasn't the only nephilim hunted anymore - but I was still the only one who'd managed to get Uriel's personal attention. Lucky me. He'd been oddly absent for the last few months, though, and I was beginning to wonder if I should be insulted at his lack of attention. Nah… Gift horse. Mouth. On the other hand, I was getting a little paranoid every time I went topside, as if he _should_ be there waiting with an 'ah ha gotcha!' moment. But unless I planned never to leave again, there wasn't much sense in worrying.

The last cavern room we made any real use of was another 100 feet deeper. We called it the Waiting Room. 33 angels trapped, more or less catatonic, within their vessels - it was as close to enchanted sleep as we could manage on the spelled bullets; you can only inscribe so much on something that small. Damon had come up with the spell, and the means to melt down and rework the blades - a furnace run on holy oil.

I wondered if the head honchos in Heaven would ever figure it out - I hoped not, but Damon assured me even if they did, it wasn't as if they had holy armor to protect them. It was kind of neat. Seemed _too_ neat sometimes, but if it meant less killing, I couldn't quibble. We tucked them all into the Waiting Room until - well, until either God went home or the war was over. I was rooting for God myself. I still wasn't sure I believed He even existed, but I tried. Faith's a bitch sometimes.

Damon and I stopped in the passage to the shooting range to watch our newest recruits - two teenagers and a guy in his late 30's. The guy looked seriously out of place. Most of the nephilim came into their mojo from late teens to early 20's, but I supposed if it could happen to Mia at age 7, it could, and likely did happen much later, too. While Charlie may have looked out of place age-wise, his speed and confidence assembling, loading, and firing (was that really 6 seconds?) were better than good. I wouldn't have pegged him for ex-military before, but now I wondered. He emptied the clip into the target with deadly accuracy and almost frightening speed and I was suddenly glad he was on our side.

The two teenagers were identical twin girls who looked, if you discounted the faces, _nothing_ alike. The blonde of the pair looked like the good girl next door - the one who brought new neighbors casseroles and helped the elderly with their gardening. Her sister looked like a punk goth straight out of a Marilyn Manson video. They were both clearly terrified of guns. Leo stood close by while they mimicked loading the gun, over and over.

Leo, if it was possible, looked like America's version of Hagrid -all 6'5" of him. In some of the smaller caverns, he looked about that wide, too. He was also the gentlest, most patient man the Mission had. And our resident all-around guy: witch, ex-hunter, somewhat-psychic, and occult know-it-all. A large hairy blessing in disguise.

Noticing Damon and I in the entry, he gave the girls encouraging instructions, then left them to it. Seeing my wide-eyed look of concern, he chuckled through his lumberjack's beard. "Don't worry, they're only blanks, for now."

I nodded, relieved, and pulled out the two blades I'd gotten that morning.

"I think we'll be needing more bullets." He took the two blades with a raised brow to Damon.

"Up for a little hard labor?" He looked to me. "Handle the nippers for a bit?"

"Sure," said Damon while I shrugged an assent, "but after - I get the chance to win back the golden arm." The golden arm was just that. A roughly arm-shaped chunk of melted gold. When we'd first explored the caverns, we'd found a small fortune of gold, silver, and jewels. While Mia paraded around the cave wearing as much of it as her little frame would hold, Leo and I explored the little nook and found what looked like-"

"Dragon marked," Leo grunted, fingers tracing the thick scorched talon marks embedded in the wall. I'd laughed - until I saw he was serious.

Later, Leo and Damon had melted the metals down for specialty weapons - cold iron only worked on maybe half the monsters out there - but a small chunk had dripped cold. And of course, it looked more or less like a small golden arm. They'd been arm wrestling for it ever since. Two peas in a pod.

They wandered out toward our cave-made smithy, cursing and shoving each other with manly affection. I was grateful for Leo - but mostly because he seemed to ground Damon in a way _I_ no longer could. I think maybe he was as close to a father as Damon had these days.

I left them to it, and headed into the gallery to try to teach two girls how to love their guns.

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><p><strong>an:** Reviews are always welcome and appreciated!


	4. Justice and Mojo

**Justice**

C -

Castiel paced the empty hallway, uncomfortable. His newest assignment put him on watch detail of a 12 year old boy -currently a social outcast, and soon to be, if Castiel didn't stop it- murderer. But almost every 12 year old in the country was required by law to go to school, and where his charge went, so did he. This was one of the rare places Castiel did _not _enjoy studying human behavior. Middle School, he decided, was little more than than an exercise in learning the meaning of the word Cruel.

It was also the last place he expected to find Gabriel.

"Come now, brother," Gabriel said, pushing a mop and wheeled bucket down the hallway. "_Last place?_ If ever a creature in existence deserves a little Loki justice, surely it's that of a 13 year old bully," he said around a watermelon flavored sucker, his green eyes twinkling. "And since I'm guessing you're here on behalf of one Maxwell Martin, it certainly won't hurt if I dispense a little justice to one or two of his tormentors."

He looked just the same, Castiel realized, as the last time he'd seen him. Of course, now that he stood here in all his janitorial glory, he recalled clearly there _had been _a last time, though he still wasn't clear on when that was.

"Gabriel," he said with a small nod. "And just what kind of justice could a 13 year old need?"

"One far more deserving than Max will get if he's the one to break this seal. The human justice system will try him as an adult and he'll be sent to prison. The second day there, he'll join a gang for protection and be shivved on the third for suspected disloyalty. He'll die- for attempting justice on his own." Gabriel's eyes didn't twinkle now, except with anger.

Castiel didn't doubt him. "Loki" was a great admirer of 'just deserts'. Some may have seen it as cruel, but few knew that he was very rarely unfair.

Gabriel had finally reached him, stopped to lean against a row of liberally 'tagged' lockers. Max's name was there with some obscure reference to goats.

"Shivved?" said Castiel.

"Yes. Shivved, shanked, lanced, spit." said Gabriel with exaspiration. Castiel still looked blank. "Stabbed."

"Ah."

"And you, Cas?" Gabriel quirried with a raised brow. "How do you plan to prevent what is nearly inevitable if you're hiding in plain sight?"

Castiel didn't see it as hiding, persay. Simply guarding. He would intervene if and when the time came, and said so.

"No Castiel, you can't lie to me. You should know _that_ by now. You're hiding." Gabriel had a sudden thought. "You're not... _afraid _of them, are you?" His green-gray eyes twinkled with hilarity.

Castiel shifted his feet uncomfortably. "No," he said quickly - but not quickly enough.

"Oh - ho! I see! Reminscing about our own misspent youth then, are you?" Now Gabriel's eyes were positively shiny with supressed laughter.

Castiel glowered at him.

"This isn't a game, Gabriel. Of all the seals, there are a handful that should be prevented - not just because they're seals, but because preventing them-"

"Is the right thing to do," Gabriel finished for him, eying his brother, all trace of humor gone. "I've been dispairing for you for centuries, Castiel. Finally. Finally _you've changed_."

Whatever Castiel had planning to say in response came up short - his jaw closing again with an audible CLACK of teeth. _Changed? _No, he hadn't.

"Yes, you have," Gabriel retaliated with a directly raised brow.

"No. No, I haven't," Castiel insisted, seeming uncomfortable and maybe a little guilty - like he'd been caught with his hand in the proverbial candy jar.

"Hm. That remains to be seen," said Gabriel lightly, but Castiel saw something in his eye that made him want to squirm. Or retreat. "Still," he continued, "even a decade ago I'd have said 'indifferent' was your middle name, such as the way you seemed to view the world." Gabriel tilted his head a bit, eyes narrowed. "What was it that you saw in Hell that brought this on, I wonder..."

"I have no middle name," said Castiel stonily in response, ignoring the query about Hell. He didn't want to think about it. _ Ever. Again_. Unless it pertained to Dean Winchester... or Sam Winchester, he supposed. They were too important to be completely indifferent toward. There was still too much at stake.

Gabriel watched as these thoughts passed behind Castiel's eyes, his own thoughts churning in response. But he let it go, for now.

"You're not indifferent toward the boy now, either. If you really expect to help him, though, you'll need a more active roll than that of invisible sentry."

Castiel had already come to that conclusion, but hadn't yet decided _how_ to play a roll. He was a soldier, not a babysitter. Nothing yet in his existence could possibly have prepared him for... _this_.

"Children, Castiel," Gabriel chuckled. "Not_ 'this'_. Children." He finished his sucker with a crunch and tucked the sticky stem into his pocket, pulling a jolly rancher out instead.

Castiel shrugged a shoulder, discomfitted. "What would you recommend?" he asked abruptly. Gabriel was no less a warrior than he, was a far more experienced one, in fact - but he'd also been walking the earth for far longer. If there was anyone better suited to ask advise from...

Gabriel was already shaking he head. "Oh no, little brother. 'You learn something new every day'," he quoted. "Today you learn to figure this out on your own," he said gravely, then lightly added, "-but, if I were to suggest a prudent first step, I'd start by keeping him from breaking an arm while climbing out the restroom window."

Castiel searched with his mind while peering back into the classroom he'd been guarding. Max was no longer there. He swung around, a question on his tongue, to Gabriel, but all that remained was the bucket and mop. And a jolly rancher wrapper that lay crinkled on the floor.

* * *

><p>M-<p>

Max was half-in-half-out of the afformentioned window when he got stuck. _Very_ stuck. In a very uncomfortable position, nearly straddling the low sill. It had surprised him a bit that he'd even gotten this far. It was one of those safety windows all buildings as old as this school were required to have in case of fire- but never really intended to be used as an escape way, which is why they'd put it nearly up to the ceiling. But Max was desperate. Jimmy Todd was going to kick his ass after school - and like last time, get away scott-free with no one the wiser for it.

Max was desperate indeed to go this far, but he'd rather look like a coward to his classmates than have to explain to his mother why he refused to back to class after his near-daily visit to the nurse. _Again._

Max always said it was his stomach. And it was, though neither the nurse, nor Max himself, nor his mother knew he was already well on his way to his first ulcer.

His classmates had picked on him since kindergarten - his only claimable friend was George, and only because Max did most of his homework for him. But even George didn't really like Max. Max was small, fat, and wore thick corrective-lense glasses on his pimply face. The pimples were new this year, but the rest had been his bane since toddlerhood. And every year, got worse. His mother was talking about braces now.

Max cringed at the thought while trying to figure out how to get his ankle unwedged from under his fat bottom while still holding onto the window sill. If he let go, it'd be simple enough; also simple to tumble head first 11 feet down to the ground outside.

Somewhere in the back of his mind the more logical part of his brain was cursing him soundly for not having at least _tried_ to sneak past the main offices and out the front entrance. But for Max, at least, fear overcame logic every time. He knew he was a wimp, but would rather _not_ be an ass-kicked wimp, given the choice. His ribs were still bruised from his last round with Jimmy.

Maybe if he just let one hand go... which turned out was one hand too few. He shrieked, his voice breaking, as his face went rushing toward the ground, sadly in perfect focus thanks to his glasses. He tried to brace himself as instinct told him to, arms upraised to help take some of the brunt of the impact.

But the impact never came. And he was no longer falling.

His feet were sturdily on the ground, though his head still spun.

And he wasn't alone.

A man stood there, though Max could only see feet at the moment, followed black slacks up, and up past a dusty coat covering a white shirt, loosened tie... to a face so sternly set, it would've given Principal Weiss a run for her money. But Max's glasses, still recovering from the momentum of falling, slipped down his nose and the world was instantly fuzzy. But it let him see something he wasn't meant to see.

Behind the man were shadows - impossible shadows arching out from his shoulders. And they looked like wings. Very, _very _big ones.

Max gulped audibly, took a deep steadying breath, shut his eyes tight, and screamed.

* * *

><p>C-<p>

Castiel could manipulate time if he chose, but normally only under strict instructions from higher up, unless he had a worthy cause otherwise. He very much _wished_ this was a worthy cause, but didn't think it _quite_ qualified. For a boy so small, he was really very loud.

It was a little like being in the presence of a massive explosive - one that had already begun detonating. He was tempted to just put him to sleep, but that seemed a bit extreme. Max was just a child, after all.

And then _she_ came around the corner, no doubt to investigate the noise of either a murder in progress or a lost piece of candy. With children, in his limited experience, it was always difficult to say.

Sari skidded to a halt between him and the boy - gave Castiel a withering glance and a shooing gesture before dropping down on one knee in front of Max, who was still screaming. She gently pushed his glasses back up his nose and waited.

* * *

><p>S-<p>

The silence was strangely deafening when he was finished. He blinked like an owl behind his glasses, then swiveled his head around much the same, no doubt looking for the broody guy in the trench coat. Thankfully, Castiel had taken the hint and Caspered, but the kid was still clearly shaken.

"You okay?" I asked when his eyes found mine again. He nodded rapidly, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Having gotten the worst of it out of his system, he finally noticed _me_ - or noticed I was a grown-up, a stranger, and/or a pretty girl and turned beet red.

"You should probably try to sneak back in," I said, looking up at the tiny window above, "But I'd recommend the front door this time. You're lucky you didn't break your neck!" I scolded as best I could, though I might have admired his bravery, a little. Except that it seemed like stupidity, seeing how high the window was.

"Who are you?" he demanded, aparently having moved from 'pretty' to 'stranger'.

I smiled as best I could, but know it was a little stiff. I wasn't great with kids, but oddly, I seemed to be the best of the Mission members to pass for a college-age sub.

"I'm Miss Chase. I'm a substitute."

"You're not old enough to be a teacher!" he accussed.

I grinned. "Well, thank you! But I _am_ old enough to be a _substitute _teacher." I let the smile slide away and tried out my best grown-up 'beady eye'. _"And you are?_" I asked without a blink.

He clamped his lips shut.

I stared harder, raising a brow.

He shuffled his feet, trying not to squirm.

I stared harder, my eyes narrowing, refusing to blink.

"Max!" he blurted. 

_I win_.

"Well, Max, since lunch is only just beginning, I _know_ you shouldn't be out here. We really should go in before you're missed. If you don't, they'll just call the police." It sounded plausible to me, but I let him mull it over for a minute. Trust was often handy in cases like this. Or, would be if I ever _took_ cases like this. I usually gave them away- and would have for this one too if I'd know Castiel would be here.

I could only see the aura of him from the corner of my eye, but I'm pretty sure he was either glaring or scowling at me. At least, if felt that way.

Max finally nodded glumly and kicked at the ground with a dirty sneaker. "I'm gonna get in _so_ much trouble," he muttered.

_Poor kid,_ I thought. _ Still, he's gotta take his lumps, doesn't he? Or... maybe not. _

"Here's the deal. I haven't even checked myself in yet, so technically, I don't _need_ to report you. I'm guessing the secretary might be a bit busy with me for a minute of two..." His eyes widened and I was strongly reminded of a kid on Christmas morning. "But," I continued, "I know for a fact I'm going to have a knee-high stack of homework to grade, even after last bell. Think you can take pity on a lowly sub for a while after school?" Judging by the awestruck look on his face, I'd just answered a prayer. He gulped and nodded.

"Great," I said, rising. "Lets go be sneaky."

After having met the hawk-eyed secretary (see prison guard) I didn't blame Max for trying the window first, even at the risk of broken bones. She frowned at my attire (_my_ subs in school wore jeans, why not me?), she frowned at my youth (okay, so I looked like lunch meat to hordes of kiddies - but I wasn't), she even frowned at my shoes, though that might have been admiration. Maybe she just forgot how _not_ to frown.

Ten minutes of paperwork later and Max had successfully snuck back in and toward the lunch room, Cas trailing ghostily behind. I ate an apple while inspecting my assigned room, but it wasn't until the whole 27 twelve-year olds had filed back in that I realized I should've studied for this gig. Combat training, maybe.

Max, who of course was in the class, gazed at me with something close to puppy love for the rest of the day, which was a little creepy, considering his age. In fact, it was a little hard not to notice that _most_ of the boys in the class had that same look. _Uber-creepy_.

Finally, some 8 or 9 _hundred_ hours later, the bell rang and they stampeded out. Literally. And I think one of those tiny pervs grabbed my butt on the way by. _Ick._

When they were gone, I wearily thumped my viciously aching head down on the desk and hid under my half-braided hair... until Max coughed. Twice.

_Polite little bugger, _I thought.

"Max... I have an mission for you, should you choose to accept it," I said, my head still on the desk.

"Um... okay. What?" Did he _have_ to sound so chipper?

"_Caffeine_. Soda. Coffee. Please, I'm desperate."

"Oh! There's a Coke machine in the lunch room!" Now he sounded like an eager puppy.

"Perfect." I dragged the few dollars I had out of my pocket and shoved it in the general direction of his voice. "Rock on, Mad Max. Grab yourself one too, 'kay?"

"Cool!" And he was gone. But Castiel stayed. I frowned and mentally sensed around the school. 6 teachers, 2 janitors, 1 principal, and 1 kid _not_ in detention. I was hoping that kid was Max, but couldn't tell through the ache. Surely Castiel knew, though.

"Cas, if you glare at me any harder, I'll go blind... even _with_ my eyes closed." I thought I remembered that hum... pretty sure it was agitation.

_'What are you doing here? If they show up...' _he whispered in my mind.

With the headache getting stronger, I wasn't up for mental whispering. I dug my cell phone out of my back pocket and put it to my ear through my hair.

"They won't show. Right now this is low priority to them. What is it about you that keeps getting stuck with Sitter Duty?"

_'I don't know what you mean. Are you really here to help?' _He sounded suspicious. Seems it was difficult to find a trusting angel these days.

"Would I still be here suffering if I wasn't? He's important. That's enough, isn't it?"

_Silence._

"Well, just turn down the vibes, if you wouldn't mind. If feels like a dozen mis-tuned tuning forks stabbing my brain all at once."

_'What's wrong with you?' _If I'd had any energy left for imagination, he might've sounded concerned.

I grunted. "Crazy chick dug up my psyche a few years back. Had headaches ever since." Maybe that _was_ a concerned hum... Hard to tell. "It'll pass - just... turn down the mojo for a while, eh?"

I felt him startle for a second, then wind down the energy to the barest whisper.

"Thanks," I muttered, and closed the phone.

* * *

><p>C-<p>

Castiel _had_ startled. That word again. _ Mojo_. He _knew_ that word.

~mojo, energy, go-juice. Grace.~

_I've met her before_, he thought wonderingly. _Where have I met her before?_

He could hear the words clearly in his mind. _Her_ words, _her voice_.

Tilting his head, he frowned down at her, trying to _See_ past her energy. Difficult - it was so _bright_, though strangely also barely discernable past all the other residual energy in the room. But _there_... t_here_ was a dull spot - just there. -

"Ouch," she muttered hoarsely. Castiel pulled his own energy back. He didn't doubt that she had headaches. If she were a _normal_ human -

_~Why do you want to be a normal human?~_

His own voice, like an echo - just out of reach. _Why can't I remember?_

Max picked that moment to walk back in, a Coke in each hand - and promptly dropped them when he saw the blood pooling on the desk and soaking into her hair.

"Miss Chase?" he whispered, horrified. And then for the first time in his short life, logic won out over fear. He turned back to the door, and screamed for help.

* * *

><p>C-<p>

Castiel frowned again, belatedly seeing what the boy had seen. _Blood?_

He _Looked_ again, to _See_... the dull spot in her golden glow had grown an angry red and was even now getting darker. Bigger. She didn't have time.

Castiel suffered through a much shorter screech from the boy this time, mainly because the boy forwent the entirety of it to rush him instead when he picked Sariel up.

"LET HER GO!"

"I'm trying to help her," he ground out, wondering if he even could. This was no _normal_ injury; nothing he'd ever seen before even came close. The boy had a tight grip on her wrist, tugging, though not very hard, tears starting to form behind his thick glasses.

"Please," Max whispered. "Please, _help her_."

"Let her go, Max," Castiel said, his eyes steady on the boy's. "I will do what I can."

Max let go, reluctantly, eyes veering around, seeking more, seeking _something_ to help. Why hadn't anyone _come?_

Castiel gathered her closer, trying to _feel_ her injury; if he could just stop it for a moment, find out _what_ was injured...

Max spied her phone in the blood on the desk, snatched it up. Wiz kid that he was, he had her directory open in seconds. Most recent call was...

"Mister! Her phone! Um... Damon. Damon is the most used number in here!"

"Call it. Tell him she is hurt. She doesn't have long." Castiel closed his eyes and carefully wrapped his energy around her, into her, as the boy pushed the buttons, the signal scrambled, a voice. A _familiar _voice. "Damon," he said over Max's stutters. He was sure he could be heard. "She is hurt. Come quickly."

Castiel felt him seconds before he was there, looming over them, fury on his face and then panic, when he saw her. Her eyes blinked slowly, shot with the red of broken blood vessels, but unseeing eyes. _Dying_ eyes. Blood was still dripping steadily from her nose.

_"Sari?"_

"She's been unresponsive for almost 3 minutes, I believe. She said her head hurt. Something about tuning forks." Castiel reluctantly handed her to her friend, though mostly so he could _see_ her better. Whatever was wrong in her mind had slowed, but not stopped. Like an infection, it was creeping outward, but slower now.

"I'm taking her back. Maybe Leo-" he stopped short and glared at Castiel. "You were there when she was hurt. Don't you _know_ what happened?"

Castiel only blinked. "I don't - remember." But he was, a little.

"Remembering a little is better than nothing," Damon shot, but less with anger than terror. This could _not_ be happening.

Castiel's stoic face showed some surprise. Damon had _heard_ him.

"If you had more time to help, would you help her?" Damon had to word it very carefully... she would never forgive him if he screwed this up - or put the others in danger.

"Yes," Castiel replied without thought. _Yes? ...Yes, of course. _

"Would you _swear_ to it, that in the course of helping her, nothing you see, do, or say will reach the other angels? _Nothing_, not so much as a pin on a map?"

Castiel frowned, a bad thought forming.

"Will you swear it? To help _her?_" Damon asked again, eyes locked on Castiel's. Castiel glanced at Sari once again. Her eyes blinked slowly, so green. _ So familiar_.

"I swear," he said softly with a nod, his eyes still on hers. Castiel had just enough time to grab his charge by the shoulder before Damon grabbed him. And with a whirlwind flutter that sent stacks of ungraded papers whipping around the room, they were gone.

* * *

><p><strong>an:** Reviews are both welcome and appreciated! :)


	5. Injured

**Home**

Damon staggered hard when they landed - nearly dropping Sari in the process. He'd never slid 3 people before, let alone 4. The strain left him dizzy and nauseous.

Castiel caught Sari's limp body awkwardly with one arm, steadying Damon with the other. Damon shoved him away, breathing deep a few seconds to clear his head, then glared at Castiel as he gathered his sister up again. Max still stood close to Castiel, but he wasn't dizzy or nauseous. He was too shocked to be either. First falling, then not. Creepy winged dude, then not. Brightly lit classroom, and then... cave?

There was a single dimly-lit lantern to the side of a tunnel, but that was all that adorned the cave. The rock wall that rose up into the dark was all different shades and patterns, worn just so by time.

Damon glowered at Castiel, not even sure himself why he was so angry. "Do you know where we are?" he demanded.

Castiel thought about it - and came up blank. Totally blank, as if they stood in a place that lacked reality. "No," he said honestly.

"Good. Follow me." Damon followed the lantern light through a short tunnel to another, then another, and straight into the heart of the Mission. A few people lingered around a small campfire, chatting quietly. Until Leo saw them.

_"Sari?"_ The mid-sized cave got full in a hurry, drawn by the large man's worried holler. A few wisely stayed back, trying not to get in the way.

"He says he can help her," said Damon with a tip of his head to Castiel as he lay Sari gently on the stone floor on her side - better to help the blood still seeping from her nose to get out, rather than risk her choking or drowning.

"I _may_ be able to help her," Castiel said grimly. "I will try, but I don't know what has been done to her. I have no memory of that night."

Leo's eyes widened a little when he finally drew his eyes away from the sight of Sari, bloody and blank, to see Castiel. He knew that energy. "Angel," he growled, eyes narrowing. Whether it was knowing they were in the presence of a full-blooded angel, or because of Leo's growl, several people took hasty steps back to the tunnel openings, murmuring in protest and fear.

"Why did he bring-" "Did you see?" "We should leave before-" "How can-" "Who is-"

"Castiel."

Everyone, even Leo who'd still been grumbling, silenced like a mute button had been pushed. Mia strode slowly out of the crowd with a confidence none there had ever seen in her - before now. But she held a presence - _a power _- that no one, not even Sari had ever witnessed.

She knelt beside Leo, who was also staring at her with something like wonder, but she never took her eyes from the angel.

"Yes. I am Castiel." He too saw the child - but knew now that not all of her _was_ child. He still might not, but had been looking deeper into Sari when he'd heard his name. This girl held something _much more_.

"I knew you would be here someday," she said quietly. Most everyone in the caves watching the strange scene unfold had never heard her speak... at least not out loud.

"Then you know more than I, Mia." She smiled a small smile at that, unconcerned that he knew her name. "Should I be here?" he asked solemnly, unperturbed and not the least bit surprised by the exchange, odd as it was.

"If you've come to help her, yes." She looked away from him finally, to Sari. "This injury is not new. She has been plagued with headaches since that night in the woods." She laid a tiny hand on Sari's head, closed her own eyes, frowning. "Whatever barrier she erected to patch it up... it couldn't hold forever. Today, next week, next year - this would have happened eventually.

Leo and Damon were both frowning deeply at her.

"You _are_ still Mia, right?" asked Damon. Leo had his eyes narrowed again, as if trying to see _into_ Mia herself.

She tilted her head to the side, as if listening to things unheard. "Yes," she said slowly. "But I am also older than the child myself. It matters not. Not right now. If Sari is not helped soon, she will not survive this. And Uriel will _not_ let her escape again - he'll be waiting for her this time."

"What?" Damon all but shouted. "She'll come back! She's _always _comes back! She'll _keep_ coming back."

"Not this time, Damon," Mia said carefully, opening her eyes to meet his. Her eyes were not hers, not alone. Damon's blood chilled, just a little under that gaze. The _old_ gaze. Whoever she was, Damon believed her.

"What do we need to do?" Leo asked, finally breaking the silence. Mia blinked up at him with a small smile.

"Find that piece of her mind that has been hurt, and help her to remove it, or heal it, as much as it can be. A simple patch won't do this time. She must heal completely, or die." Her words were slow and calmly spoken, but she looked just a tiny bit panicked, more like the child Mia rather than the _other_ Mia.

She looked to Damon now, spoke more quickly. "Her spirit is tired and a great part of it wants to let go. Be her anchor - as she was for you once."

She switched her gaze again to Castiel. "And you Castiel - you must walk through with her - as you have before. You must help her to find that part of herself that can only be accessed from within. You must -" Mia swayed slightly and swallowed hard. "You must hurry!"

Leo caught her by the arms before she could fall onto Sari. She suddenly seemed lighter, like a weight had been lifted. She blinked up at Leo, her brow furrowing.

_'Did I get lost again?' _she whispered to his mind. _ 'I was trying to find Sari. I think I got lost!' _

"Maybe a little lost, sweetheart," Leo said kindly. "But we found Sari. She's sick and we need to help her get better." Mia blinked down at Sari and smiled sadly, seemingly ignorant of the blood, then leaned down to kiss her brow.

_'A kiss to make it all better!'_

Damon looked on the verge of tears, staring intently at his sister, as if willing her to wake.

"Um, I'm sure that'll help sweety." Leo looked to Max. "Max, is it? Mia, this is Max. Why don't you show him around while we see to Sari, eh?"

Mia's eyes lit on Max and she smiled brightly, waving. Max looked confused, blinking rapidly, but waved back.

"And the rest of ya! Go! Your crowding her won't help!" said Leo gruffly, rising to his feet. They may have all been adults, some with gifts and power of their own, but they still scattered like birds under his intent scowl.

The cave emptied down to the four of them; with the exception of Sari, all looked a little lost as to what to do next. Sari's eyes still blinked slowly, but less frequently than before, her breathing becoming slower and uneven.

"Well then," said Leo, dabbing blood away from her face with a damp towel he'd pulled from somewhere. "Lets get healing."

* * *

><p>C-<p>

"I'm going in," Castiel stated, essentially halting the argument Leo and Damon were having on the best way to heal a psychic wound. Leo gave him an appraising look while Damon just glowered.

"How do you plan to do that?" Damon snapped. "Click your heals three times?"

"I doubt that would work." Cas replied seriously. Instead, he lay down beside her, his own face inches from hers.

"_Uh, huh_..." Leo said slowly. "So the eyes really are windows to the soul?"

"Exactly."

Castiel blinked several times, then slower, slower... until his blinks were in synch with her own. From here he could easily see each long eyelash, each tiny blood vessel, the tiny spikes of amber almost hidden in the fascinating combination of green and gray. But it was her pupils her really saw. So deep. A depth and knowlege even Heaven itself knew nothing of.

And then, he was falling in.

* * *

><p>As always, reviews are both welcome and appreciated! :)<p> 


	6. Mind's Eye

**The Mind's Eye**

C-

Castiel blinked a final time, and then he stood slowly, taking in the scene. He knew the minds of humans worked very differently than that of any angel, but even he couldn't have predicted _this_. But, of course, she wasn't _only_ human.

She lay prone on the seemingly endless ground, on a vague shadow of a path facing away from him, a hand outstretched toward the gate - fingers a mere inch from the guilded laticework. Her long hair splayed out behind her, waves of brown and red and gold, glowing in the light of the great gate to Heaven. He'd never seen it from this side, and couldn't begin to fathom how she had.

She wore a simple ivory sleeveless smock and soft full leggings. He'd seen such attire in the early days of Sumaria, before the rulers of men had curbed the women's attire. Her feet were bare, legs pulled up into an almost fetal position; he'd seen humans do that often enough to know it signified pain. Did her head still ache, even here in her mind? It seemed unlikely, but he'd never tread through the psyche of another before.

His own attire was unchanged; Jimmy's clothing never changed, since Castiel saw no reason it should. Jimmy himself was still, for the most part, asleep and had no opinion on the matter.

He approached her carefully, cautiously, not wanting to startle her. He wasn't even sure she would be conscious, even here. But she'd need to lead them to the damaged part of her mind, wherever that was, if she was to survive this.

His feet made no sound on the shady path, nor did she move to face him, but said "I don't know if I _want_ to survive this time..." A simple statement, but explained why she lay unmoving, staring into the Garden. Castiel walked around her feet to stand near, where he could see her face - and realized that he'd known nothing of her before now, not really.

With her face aglow in the wash of the starlight and the light of the Gate, she was beautiful. Radient. Her skin a pearly alabaster, her soft green eyes twinkling as if living stars had been trapped within them. Her lips alone held just the smallest bit of color, a pale pink blush, her skin unlined like time had never touched it. Here, in her minds eye, she _was_ an angel, but an angel embodied, like even he himself would never really be.

It took a moment past these wonderings to realize what she'd said. He frowned a little, confused.

"Why not?" he asked bluntly. Her eyes flickered, but didn't move from peering through the gate. The fingers that were stretched out to the gate moved forward, just a fraction. A fraction was enough. A barrier, invisible until now, lit up with a sound - words couldn't describe - but loud enough, bright enough, even he found himself covering his ears, eyes clenching tight against the light. It faded slowly, echoing away up and out into the dark. She'd puller her fingers away, back to only _nearly_ touching the softly glowing gate. She lay still again, unmoved by what had happened, staring through the gate and into the Heavenly Garden beyond.

Tears trembled unfallen in her eyes, her voice husky with emotion. "What kind of a person am I?" she asked, "What kind of a person or angel or being have I been - _ever been _- that God himself won't let me come home?" The tears did fall then, raining down like falling stars and he thought maybe he understood - a little. To be so close, always just a step away from paradise, and denied entry. To _never_ go home - to never reach Heaven and be welcomed by all he'd ever loved.

He felt a single tear on his own cheek and wiped it away with confused wonder. Had he ever felt this kind of pity before? This grief for another? This feeling in his chest, this _ache_... surely this was but Jimmy's emotions swimming to the surface. Surely no _angel_ could feel this - _grief? _Would Heaven allow such a thing?

He knelt at her side, holding her free hand hard, as if he could take her grief, or maybe give his away - because _seeing_ this,_ knowing _this truth of her, of himself - this suffering could not-_ should not_- be borne alone.

* * *

><p>C-<p>

Emotions, Castiel mused, were very distracting. She'd ceased crying some time ago, though her was certain time meant little here. He found at one point his thumb had begun, almost of it's own accord, to run itself over the back of her knuckles... a comforting reminder for them both that she was not alone, not completely. The skin of her hand was smooth, like that of an infant. He could feel, subtly, the individual likes of her fingersprints where they rested against his skin; this too was distracting.

"You should not stay here," he said finally when thought began to emerge from beyond grief.

"I know," she replied, voice still rough from crying.

"We should go, find the-"

"_No_." Very simply and sternly said, no room for argument.

"Why not?"

"Because it's pointless." A simple answer that explained nothing.

He frowned, watching her eyes watch the Garden, as if glued there.

"Pointless? Surviving is not pointless. If you remain here, your body will die. It's dying_ right now._

She sighed, quietly, unperturbed. "From the moment we are born - humans, at least - we begin to die. Nephilim aren't immune to age."

He found himself fascinated with the long lines of her fingers, his thumb brushing over each one, slow and soft. He dropped her hand abruptly, realizing and a little embarassed. She didn't seem to notice, still staring past the gate.

"I've been told when you die this time, there will be not next time. Uriel has found some way to trap your soul."

"I'm trapped already," she said quietly. "One prison or another - does it really matter?"

"If he's found a way to send your soul to Purgatory, I would say yes, it matters a great deal."

"That's where we're meant to go anyway, isn't it? Why should I keep fighting it? Why should any of us?" She looked haunted, he realized, and tired.

But she'd gleaned these thoughts, as she had before.

"I'm more than tired, Castiel. I'm _exhausted_. My _soul_ is exhausted. My _spirit_ is exhausted... I'm_ done_."

His jaw set, eyes narrowing. "No." In a heartbeat, he was on his feet, pulling her up and away from the gate, unconcerned with her sputtered protests. "No!" he said again, watched her eyes flash with anger as she found her footing. Thunder, abrupt and trembling, boomed around them, lightning flashing through the cloudless sky.

"This isn't for you to say," she said, low and dangerous. She was angry now.

Better, he thought, but could be better still. Her shoulders still hunched in a bit, like she was cowering.

"Are you a coward?" he demanded, angry himself. "Are you so weak?" He shook her by the shoulders for emphasis, hard.

Lightning crashed down at their feet, only inches away, blinding them both.

"_Let. Me. Go_." she ground out.

He'd been wrong before, he thought, watching her chin raise, her hair blowing back in the sudden wind from nowhere. _This _was beauty, to rival that of any angel or human ever known. She glowed in her fury, a terrible beauty as she pulled harshly away, hands clenching at her sides, chin raising further, strong and defiant.

"Why?" he demanded. "So you can let go? So you can sink back into self-pity? Is _that_ who you are? There's a great many in Heaven who would be disappointed - so many who remember the legend you were. _Sariel_. A hero to thousands of humans, unflawed in her sense of justice, of right. A presence that it's said _God Himself _took note of."

She blinked at him, taken aback, her anger seeping away and replaced by shock.

"_Huh_?" she asked stupidly.

"Sariel was and is the closest thing to legend angels have ever had. Some may be angry - _are_ angry - but there are those who still whisper her name with something like awe," he explained, scowling a little. "She began a revolution, a new way of thinking, that touched even Heaven.

She'd gone quiet, the wind and thunder dying away.

"_She's not me_," she said, quiet and stubborn, though there was a frightened flicker in her eyes that said perhaps she was.

"_Yes, she is_." he said heatedly. "She may not be the you of now, but she is _with_ you. Is _she_ ready to give up on life?"

* * *

><p>S-<p>

I closed my eyes with a sigh, shoving down panic and calling up logic. "It doesn't really matter, does it? She can't fight my battles for me." But he'd accomplished his goal, I saw now, and he knew it. I felt him reach out, lift my chin. When I opened my eyes again, he saw my renewed resolve and nodded once, dropping his hand away. "Thanks," I said quietly. He was back to his usual stoic self, at least on the outside.

I could see the glow of the gate out of the corner of my eye, but with a last heart-wretching ache, turned away and gazed upward instead to the starry sky. It looked from here just as it always did in my dreams, so close - stars and infered nebulas, entire galaxies within arms reach. I thought I could touch them, had I wanted, but it was so pure a picture, I didn't want to. It was just as it should be.

"Okay," I said after a moment. "How do I get out of here? I haven't really seen an exit sign around."

He seemed to think about it for a minute, looking around into the dark. With the exception of the gate and the wall surrounding it, there was nothing but the rocky path beneath our feet. His eyes followed it outward, until, my gaze following his, it disappeared into the dark horizon.

"Okay then," I mused. "Not quite a yellow brick road, but better than nothing.

"Why would it need to be yellow?" He asked, all seriousness. But it was yellow- now.

"Uh," I said, blinking. "Silver maybe?" And then it was silver.

Castiel's brows had raised a fraction. "This _is_ your mind..."

"Kinda figured that, what with the sky and all..." I waved back in the direction of the gate, trying not to think of it.

"That _is_ real though," he said slowly, looking serious. "It must be left over from Sariel's memory..." He trailed off, looking back at the gate and frowning.

"No... well, not _just_, anyhow. I've dreamt of it - or 'visioned' it before." I was resolutely not looking back, though I wanted to. I watched the horizon instead. "Anyway," I said, drawing his eyes back, "I'm guessing the headache finally got the better of me, huh?"

"Yes," he said simply, looking solemn again.

"Ohhh... kay. We should probably go. I don't think my time brain-gazing is unlimited." Now that I thought about it, I knew it wasn't.

"No," he agreed a little darkly, "it's not."

"How bad is it?" I asked warily. I didn't really _want_ to know, but...

"We should hurry."

"Okay. Hurry to where? My mind on a _good_ day is a bit of a maze. Maybe..."

Now we stood in a great hall, almost a temple of sorts, but beyond the pillars that rose high up into the empty night, the walls themselves were a series of doors; hundreds of doors. The path we'd been on was now marble, shot with silver, glimmering in the light of torches hung nearby. I grinned. "This totally rocks."

Castiel gave an approving nod. I still didn't see an exit sign, and none spontaniously appeared. I sighed and headed for a door at random. It had no handle and was rather plain, other than being made, apparently, of solid stone. I gave it a nudge and it swung open- to the day Damon and I first climbed the oak tree on the hill. The view was different, more like watching it on a high-def TV, seeing the memory whole.

My heart ached, like a fist squeezing it tight. My memory had never been this clear. Little me was laughing, loving the wind that blew through the branches; Damon always a branch just below, ready to catch me if I fell, smiling back up at me. I could feel tears stinging my eyes and pulled the door quickly shut, sniffling and embarassed.

Castiel said nothing, looking on to the other doors, frowning a little. "If these are all memories... where is the memory of the night your mind was injured?"

A door on the other side of the hall opened a bit with an audible creak.

"Um, _there_, I guess." We walked over and I gingerly pushed it the rest of the way open. And there I was, panting on the ground, still so full of all that energy, that _oneness_. And then it came, that blast of power, of Grace. It blew out from me like an explosion, like light made matter, trembling outward. The me of then was glowing, not the blue-white of angel Grace, but a golden light - the light of souled Grace. My former self had thrown out her arms, head back, hair flowing down like streams of a lighted waterfall.

_"Wow."_ I'd never reflected how it looked from an outside point of view. Wow didn't cover it.

"Yes," Castiel agreed, his brows raised. "I had only felt that from Heaven, like many others." Then she was there, waiting in the wash of afterglow. Now-me took a reflexive step back, gulping. Castiel put a steadying hand on my shoulder.

"Memories can't hurt you. This is the past; done." But he was frowing in at the scene, seeing his sister there. She looked just the same to me - still just as crazy. And then suddenly then-me was writhing on the ground, screaming. Now-me was shaking, nauseous, personal memory gripping me. That kind of pain was a little hard to forget.

The _he_ was there, standing between us, and the door slammed shut.

I jumped. Castiel didn't, though his hand had tightened on my shoulder, his brow furrowing as his eyes found mine.

"Gabriel," he said.

"Yessss..." I answered, confused and still a bit shaken.

"Is he?... " His eyes widened with question.

"My father, yeah." He looked downright shocked. "You knew that once. _You_ told _me_, once." He looked confused again, and angry. "Knowing your memory was 'lacking' didn't bother you this much last time... why now?"

"I don't know," he said and paced away... and back... away... back.

"Castiel?" This was a little worrying. "Not to minimize this, but I'm dying over here. Literally." He snapped back at that, finally looking to me again, his face softening a touch.

"Of course. Yes." He looked to the door again, thinking.

"She stripped pieces away," he said slowly, as if replaying it in his mind.

"She _WHAT?" _I found myself feeling my own head, as if checking. Duh. Mental-me had everything intact. But behind one of these doors, maybe... I turned slowly, my gaze stopping at each one, hoping for some kind of instinctive flash. None, that I could find. But...

"What is it?" he asked, having guessed at what I was doing.

I shook my head slowly. "Not sure," I said, frowning. "There's doors missing, or hidden, or..."

"Or taken?" he asked.

I could feel the blood drain a little from my mental face as I looked at him.

"Could that happen?" I asked, incredulously, then stopped. _ "No," _I said, thinking harder. "No, she attacked my barriers. My shields. I could feel her clawing at them, from inside." I shuddered, recalling.

"Your shields?" he asked, looking around, his face serious. "I don't see any shields."

I rolled my eyes; I couldn't help it.

"My _mental_ shields. My barriers. They keep my psyche from being flooded with too much - _world_." I didn't know how to explain it, and frowned back at him. "Okay," I started, pacing away and back. "Do you hear the other angels? Do they hear you, _all_ the time?"

"No, not if I don't wish them to." He was still frowning, uncomprehending.

"Right. You stop the... well, the _flow_, for lack of a better word."

"Yes," he said.

"How?"

He opened his mouth to answer, stopped, then closed it. I could almost see the light dawning.

"So," I continued, _"how do we fix mine?" _

* * *

><p><strong>an:** Reviews are, as always, both welcome and appreciated. :)_  
><em>


	7. Energy, Earth, Grace, and Soul

**a/n: **_Take a deep breath, and stop drooling on your keyboard. This author is not responsible for any damages that may occur._

* * *

><p><strong>Energy, Earth, Grace and Soul<strong>

S -

"So, how do we fix _mine_?"

His eyes fogged a little as he thought about it.

"Where _are_ your shields?" he asked finally.

"Huh... good question." I closed my eyes briefly, thinking. When I opened them again, we stood in an endless field of flowers. Nothing but ground, blossoms, us, and starlight as far as the eye could see.

He peered around, as if they would suddenly pop up out of the ground. My own eyes went up... and up. His gaze finally followed mine. Up.

"Oh."

"Yeah," I shrugged. "Well, if you had to build a mental wall, wouldn't you make it pretty?" And here I thought I just had a kickass imagination. Apparently a useful one, too. _Nifty._

"It looks intact," he said, frowing at the sky.

Now I frowned at it too.

"Can you take them down, at least a little?" he asked. "Maybe the injured part will be easier to see."

I cringed. "I can, yeah. How many people were in the room, or the area when you - "I waved a hand "came to find me?" The more people, I knew, the more unpleasant it would be.

For many, the general thought was that psychics could peer into the minds of others. And maybe some could. But for me, it was the opposite. It had taken half my childhood to learn how to keep others _out_. With no barriers at all, it was like having armies of people marching through my head, all their thoughts and emotions, even dreams and nightmares, along with them. If I'd taken down my barriers, totally, in the middle of New York City, I had no doubt I'd stroke out in minutes- half-angel or no. But even with a small group of people, it could be painful - taking it down totally was SO not happening.

"Four," he replied, "when I'd connected with your mind. Damon, Leo, myself, and you."

"Leo?" I asked, frowning, then eyes narrowing. "Are we in the caverns?" My heart skipped a beat, knowing how close...

"Yes," he replied quietly. "Damon made me swear to secrecy before he brought me. I intend to keep that oath." But he didn't look happy about it.

My mental head swam suddenly, knocking me to my knees. Then he was there, holding me upright with a concerned frown.

"We're out of time. Let the barrier down." He was blurry, even to mental-me. Not good.

I took a bracing breath, and pulled the wall down a little, in, like siphening it into a reserve tank. Still there if I needed it. The sky above shimmered and swam, but I didn't think it was just me. Castiel looked up, releasing me and frowning heavily as he stood. I couldn't really blame him. I probably would've frowned too, if I hadn't been so busy looking horrified.

My mental sky/shield, looked more or less the same, but brighter somehow as if the pinpricks of starlight were now polka-dots of starlight; except a portion almost directly above. It looked raw - an angry bruised color like something heavy and harsh had been dragged accross it.

"Shit," I said softly, gazing up. "No wonder it hurts. It did, now - and hurt all the more from Leo and Damon's worry and anxiety, chaotic thoughts pulsing into me like two extra racing heartbeats.

'Damnit, we need to get him out,' Damon was saying. I could barely see him, kneeling in the flowers, like a ghostly version of himself, hand clenched tight around nothing; probably my hand, though.

"Don't let him do that," Castiel shot over his shoulder. "Right now you need whatever extra energy he can give you while we fix this."

I relayed the message to Damon, watching him blink in shock and relief. He still looked worried though.

"You're bleeding again," he said grimly. "And your breathing, your pulse -" he shook his head. "_Hurry,_" he ordered, and closed his eyes, focusing.

Damon's energy pulsed into me, all at once, and I felt stronger. I got back to my mental feet to join Castiel, still staring intently up.

"You need to bring it down here," he said. "I think you need to - to touch it to heal it."

I nodded, closing my eyes to focus. Nothing. I looked to Castiel, frowning. "I can't." He looked a little worried now, lips set tight.

"Wait!" I had a thought, and grinned. "This is _mental_ you, too, Cas. And you're an angel. You," I said as he frowned, _"have wings."_

He blinked at me and raised his brows. I wonder how long it'd been since he'd used his real ones to forget that fact. And then he _did_ have wings, shirtless suddenly, and looking like all of the holy angel he really was. He had a nice chest, lightly haired and nicely toned, but... Splendid in all his feathered glory, he stretched those mighty wings out, and out, easily 9 or 10 feet long each, shimmering grey in the dim light. I wondered if I looked as jaw-droppingly impressed as I felt.

"_Kick... ass_," I said as he looked back to me, a brow quirked. And not just a little sexy, too, I mused. Hell, a whole freaking LOT sexy. _Wow._

Then he frowned again, his wings drooping a fraction. "What about you though?" His wings ruffled a little, tucking down and inward toward his back. I was trying to think, but those fabulous wings were sort of mesmerizing.

"Huh?" I said, still watching his wings.

"Sari!" he snapped impatiently.

"Huh?" I blinked. "Oh! Right!" I wondered if mental-me blushed. Damon snorted in response. "Shut up," I muttered. He snickered instead.

"How will you -?" Castiel began, but I simply kicked lightly, and hovered up a foot, grinning.

"Never had wings - or, not that I can remember. But I've seen Peter Pan about a hundred times." I grinned more. "If I could do this in real life, I'd never walk anywhere."

Castiel's eyebrows had raised, in surprise maybe, but went back to somber as he nodded. His folded wings shivered once before stretching out and up, beat down once, and he was airborne, flapping upward to the starry wounded sky. I gave myself a second to admire the sight of him, or maybe just lust, before shaking it off and soaring up after him.

The ceiling of my shields weren't, we found, as far off as they'd seemed before. More like low clouds, 300 feet up. But the closer we got, the uglier it looked.

Once, when I'd been learning to ride my first bike, I'd taken a nasty tumble, scraping shins, elbows, knees, even my chin as I'd rolled into the street. My left knee had taken the worst of it - an angry shave of layers of skin, gravel bits digging in deep. It began to bruise even before it had stopped bleeding, purples and greens, horrible to look at.

Up close, this was worse. From here I could see a thin layer of bluish-white, coating over it, though fading. I gave the hovering angel a curious look, sensing the energy of it.

"It was spreading quickly. I did what I could to slow it, but could do little more." His wings flapped slowly behind him, holding him steady, the individual feathers seeming to reflect the colors of my shields. Kinda pretty, really.

"Oh. So how do we fix this?" It didn't look simple, or possible at all, really.

"How would you heal another wound?" he asked in return. "A cut, or a broken bone?"

Hm. I thought about it for a second. "For a cut, I'd encourage it to scab, make my body's cells replicate more quickly, hopefully stronger. For bones, pretty much the same, but with marrow, filling in the gaps, again, hopefully stronger." I looked up at the shredded sky. "But this? It looks - torn away, there's whole _chunks_ missing."

"Try the edge of the tear. Encourage it to grow," he suggested. I did, and watched with wonder as it knit slowly back toward the other side, glowing with fresh energy. Then, the world tilted.

He caught me against his chest, his arms holding me lightly but firmly, wings seemingly unburdened by the extra weight, flapping soft and strong behind him. He was frowning down at me.

"Ugh," I said queezily. I didn't want to do that again - wasn't sure I _could_ do that again. I still felt dizzy.

"Your energy is lower than I thought," he said with a frown.

"Oh," I said meekly. Not good. Damon sent a sudden surge of his own, struck me like a baseball bat from within. Castiel's eyes widened, having felt it too, still holding me close. I took a shuddering breath, found I was stronger, and reached my hand out again. It knit faster still, meeting the other side, perfect, as it should be.

I could feel, almost see, Damon though - panting with exertion, drained almost completely. _'No more, or I can't anchor you,'_ he said.

Still not good, since there were two more visibly widening tears. And then Leo layed his oversized hand on my head, and a rush of nearly pure earth energy he'd been gathering into himself came surging through. I could suddenly _feel_ the earth, molten core, rocky crusts, streams bubbling up, ocean tides ebbing and flowing - a living thing. Incredible, and _massive_.

I didn't need to touch this next tear, simply directed all that flow of pure earth at it, and watched it rebuild, again, perfectly. But Leo payed the price, collapsing unconscious next to my body, spent.

And still one more to go.

I was dizzy again, felt my mind slip, my heart skipping lazily, my breath slowing - stopping.

_"Sari!"_ both Damon and Castiel hollered in unison. But Damon had nothing left to give. I was slipping, down into the dark.

Then came a new energy, only not. Castiel had gathered me closer, intimately close, my chest against his own, his brow meeting mine. Both his arms were wrapped around my back, but one lifted away to thread his hand against the back of my own, palm outward to the tear, fingers twined with mine.

He held me easily with one strong arm, almost naturally, eyes at level with mine - looking deeply, endlessly deep into my own.

Then came the sensation I prayed never to forget. His Grace welled up and touched my own, flowing through me, around me, _into me_, filling an emptiness I'd never known was there. Complete and true and pure. Everywhere his body touched my own, and beyond, glowed bright with the force of it and I selfishly let it linger within me before sending it down our joined hands and outward, out to heal.

Even as my mind swam again, my thoughts tumbling, I could see it heal with the sheer power of Grace and soul.

And then, I knew no more.

* * *

><p><strong>an:** Reviews welcome and appreciated!


	8. Connection

**Waking**

S-

There's a place somewhere between awake and asleep where every dream you had that night still seems real, still feels like it's happening. As I blinked the sleep out of my eyes, I had to wonder how _long_ I'd been in that place - because it felt like _weeks_. As I sat up, every muscle I had and I few I was certain I hadn't known about screamed in protest. Scratch that... _months._.. maybe more.

_"Sari?"_ Damon's face suddenly filled my vision almost completely.

_"Ouch."_

"You okay?" He looked terrible, I saw; greasy hair, unshaven, bags under his eyes...

"Thirsty, but yeah. You? What happened?"

We were in the cavern quarters. Rows of cots lined up for anyone to needed to crash awhile. Damon handed me an open bottle of water, but still stared at me from the cot across the row from mine, looking concerned.

I drank half the bottle in about 3 gulps, then asked again. "Damon, _what happened? _Are you okay? 'Cus brother mine, you look like hell."

"Yeah, fine now. You've been out for almost _5 days_." My eyebrows shot up.

_"HUH?" _Hell of a power nap. No wonder I was sore. And thirsty. And hungry...

_"Food."_ I said emphatically, thinking of it. "Then, you tell me _everything_."

Three loaded hot dogs and a can of cold corn later, I finally had the gist of 'everything'. Or, thought I did.

"So," I said, coming up for air after another bottle of water. "I collapsed at Max's school, was sort of helped by Castiel, delivered back here where we had some funky mojo-joining-healing-thing going on in my head, after which Max and Castiel left for parts unknown, but now Max has resurfaced though remembering nothing but is now in some ritzy kiddy think tank and Castiel himself gone with the wind while I tanked out for nearly a week?"

Damon nodded, grinning. "You _must_ be better if you can say all that in one breath."

I nodded, trying to look happier than I felt. "Yeah, head is all better anyhow. Sore as hell from non-motion for a week." I stretched, gingerly. "Ugh. I want a shower, but Damon - you need one worse. _Much_ worse."

I was suddenly being smothered in stinky brother. He squeezed tight and I squeezed back, just glad it all worked out.

"Too damn close," he muttered to my hair. I nodded, knowing probably better than he just _how_ close.

* * *

><p>S-<p>

Two days later things were more or less back to normal. Of course, normal for _us_ meant patching up the occasionally wounded who'd run into random demons and monsters while hunting down or protecting seals. But for us, normal enough.

Damon and I were teaching the twins the basics of slipping through reality. _NEVER_ wise to practice underground. Leo had warded a space for us topside, a county-wide space (had we been in a county); but space is space, and the desert has a lot of it.

Interestingly enough, the two girls couldn't seem to _slip_ so much as an inch without the other. But the bond between twins, I knew, was a strange and curious thing. Or, maybe they were just afraid they'd slip into a different reality and get stuck without the other. I highly doubted it, but couldn't give them much assurance without actually _knowing._

"No, that's practically impossible," said Castiel from beside me. I jumped, and maybe squeaked. The twins shrieked in unison and _slipped_ back 50 or so feet in response, then grinned at each other like idiots, squealing excitedly. Damon just scowled, but at least _he_ hadn't squeaked.

I gave Castiel the glare he deserved. "What are you doing here?" I was waiting for that shivering echo that usually proceeded more angels on the way, but none came.

"I came to make sure your wounds had healed properly." His eyes were running me head to toe, but almost _through_ me than over me.

"And you had to come _here_,_ why_? Damon was glaring now, arms crossed and looking dangerous. He did a good dangerous look, but when it came to most angels, Damon was seriously out of his league. Without the bespelled bullets, he'd have been toast a few times over, and knew it. _Hated it _- but knew it.

Castiel's eyes found mine again and...

"Damon, could you excuse us for a few?" I asked, sending him a telling look. He narrowed his eyes, but slipped back over to the still-grinning twins, then away with them both.

"What's so important that you'd risk coming here? Secrecy, remember?" I was glowering hard at him, but found myself a little worried, and not just for the Mission.

"Something unexpected..." he trailed off, searching for words.

"Something good? Bad? Hot? Cold?_ What?" _He still seemed to be searching for thought, when I had one of my own. "How did you find us?" _Now_, I was worried. "I thought the wards, and the natural protection-"

"The wards are fine," he assured me, still frowning. "I found you because we seemed to have made some kind of... exchange."

I think some of the blood drained from my face. I was suddenly cold mid-day in a 90 degree desert.

"Exchange... of ... WHAT?" I demanded slowly, but thought maybe I already knew.

"Of Grace."

I sat down on the hard hot ground and dropped my head to my khaki'd knees, thumping my head against them once... twice...

"Why do people hurt themselves when they worry?"

"This is me when I'm trying not to freak out._ Deal with it_." I thumped a few more times, then lifted my head to squint up at him. "You got time to sit?" I asked dryly.

"Yes."

"Then sit. I don't want neck strain."

He sat, looking uncomfortable. Good. Misery loves company.

"Why are you miserable?"

I scowled. "Stay outta my head!"

He scowled back. "_I'm trying_. But it's difficult when your anxiety is this high." He looked away, staring out into the empty desert. "It seems to be a... side effect of sorts. I think."

I muttered every curse in every language I could through my head, then settled for sulking and logic.

"Can it be _un_done?" I asked finally.

"I don't know. Nothing like this has ever happened before, as far as I know. There's no one I can ask without 'giving you up' as you would say."

"What about Gabriel?" I asked.

"He won't answer. I've tried calling for him, several times." Now he was scowling again.

"Great," I muttered.

"Not especially," he said.

I rolled my eyes, then focused on the calm, dusty horizon. Calm was good. Calm was healthy. Calm was - not gonna happen with Damon looming over us, still scowling.

"Why are you here?" he demanded of Castiel again, hands on his hips.

"I needed to speak with Sari," Cas replied, standing again. He looked down at me, seemed to be considering.

"Yeah, yeah..." I said before he spoke. "I'll see if he'll answer, but if not..." I shrugged, "you stay on your side, I'll stay on mine."

He frowned a little at that, but nodded and-

"Cas?"

He turned back again.

"Thanks... ya know, for helping fix my head."

He nodded again, his usual sober self, and _slipped_ away with a flutter.

I squinted through the bright noon day light up at Damon. "You know, if you keep doing that, your face will freeze that way." The scowl swiveled my way, but I'd seen it too often to do more than stare blandly back. He gave up with a huff and sat down beside me.

"I don't like him," he said bluntly.

"I hadn't noticed that," I returned dryly.

"I don't trust him either."

I nodded.

"So _why do you?_" he asked, his face serious.

I shrugged and studied my feet, thinking. "Because... because I've known him a long time, in a way. Before this life, anyhow. In a way, he's been watching over me as long as you have."

He blinked at that, surprised.

I sighed. "And, unless we can figure out a way to reverse it, he and I are kinda... _connected_. Apparently had a little Vulcan mind-meld-mojo-trade off. It's how he found me here." I waved a hand at the desert, in general. "Anyway, it's a two-way thing, but more like you and me these days. I can feel what he feels. And the other way around too, I think."

"Angels don't really _feel_-feel, do they?" he asked, frowning.

"_He_ does, a little anyway... He feels a little protective of me, I guess. Responsible for me," I said, realizing. I knew that feeling because I'd felt it all my life from Damon. Huh. "But, for all we know, it could be temporary." Though it didn't feel like it.

Damon still scowled, but looked slightly appeased. "I could kill him, if it would help," he suggested with a half-shrug. I elbowed his rips in response. "Ow," he said with a lip twitch.

I snorted. "Whudevah."

Even joking, I'd felt a tiny flash at his statement - a sort of anger, maybe - and realized I felt just the slightest bit protective of Castiel, too.

* * *

><p>S-<p>

It took a few weeks to realize my most recent dreams were not, in fact, dreams. They weren't mine, period. Gabriel still wasn't responding to my pleas for an audience - and I'd tried just about everything. But if all I was going to get in the way of dreams was visions of Castiel and death, well... even _I_ could make a ruckus big enough to draw Gabriel's attention for a minute.

It was hard enough to keep from thinking of Castiel when I was _awake_. Now he had invaded my sleep, too? _Nuh-uh_. Soooo not going to happen. My brain was full enough already, thank you.

I was in the cavern gym, 3am-ish having woken up yet again with visions of dead angels dancing in my head when he _slipped_ silently in. I was busy beating the hell out of a heavy bag and didn't really care to stop. Angry. I was very, _very_ angry. And sad - almost unbearably so. And much as I would have loved to blame him, it wasn't his fault. But I knew if I stopped hitting the bag, I might well take a swing at him instead. These were _his_ feelings, I knew, and I wanted them _gone._

He waited without a word for me to exhaust myself. It took another hour and a ripped bag, but I'd gotten the worst of it out of my system. I leaned my sweaty head against the bag, watching the sand trickle onto the floor while my breathing finally slowed enough to talk.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly, "for your loss." He neither moved nor spoke but remained leaning against the wall looking lost and empty, staring at the floor.

His sister was dead.

I went to him finally, leaning beside him.

"Anna told me once I couldn't _be_ sorry, not really," he said quietly. "That I didn't know the feeling."

I tucked a stray bit of my loose hair back behind my ear, thinking.

"Yes," I said after a moment, "you do." I realized why he'd come _here_, of all places, to mourn. Because I felt it too. I felt it _with_ him. I was angry and horrified and bitterly sad - because he was.

"How do you cope with these emotions? They're chaotic and abrasive. How do you sort them all out?" he asked, his voice soft and bewildered.

"For me? Practice." I sighed. "And not. It's different for everyone, I suppose. And it matters what... what happened to bring the emotions on."

He nodded, silent, still staring at the floor.

"How did she die?" I finally asked, quietly.

"I don't know. Stabbed, but I don't know of anything powerful enough..." he trailed off, grief welling up again.

I wanted to say I was sorry again, but knew words didn't really help. I remembered my mother's death and the events surrounding it all too well. No, words didn't help. I leaned my shoulder against his because sometimes being there for the grieving is all you _can_ do. And sometime a little later, he gave my hand a quick tight squeeze, and left as silently as he'd come.

* * *

><p><strong>an:** As always, reviews welcome and appreciated! :)

To Be Continued... as soon as I get the chance to type in the next, er, 9 chapters. :P


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